The Trouble With Faith
by MoonDrop162
Summary: When Dean gets mortally wounded on a Hunt, things don't look good for the Winchesters. Sam might have a solution, but is there some darker force at work here? Rated M for Language. Fem!Sam. Based off episode 1x12, "Faith."
1. Easy, Peasy, Lemon Squeezy

**Hello, my jewels!**

**So, I thought at first, that I would do Hell House, but... my muse did not agree with me. She turned up her nose and was a total snob and refused to help me at all, so I'll have to get around to that one some other time. However, she was practically drowning me with help when I started writing for Faith, so this is what you guys get next!**

**As always, I appreciate any comments of love and critique y'all can spare! Not sure how long this one will be yet, but I have the first three chapters already written out, so we'll see how it goes. **

**Still no interwebz at home. Not having money really sucks. Ah well, a lesson in patience, I suppose.**

**I hope you guys enjoy this latest 'episode,' I'm certainly having fun writing it so far!**

**Much love and warmth,**

**MD**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. Credit goes to Eric Kripke and the writers for this show. I gain nothing from writing this, other than creative satisfaction, and little personal happiness. Enjoy!**_

* * *

Dean died on a Sunday.

It was just a couple days after Burkitsville, Indiana with the Pagan god scarecrow-thingy, and about a week after what she referred to as the 'asylum incident.' Things between Samantha and her brother were… sketchy at the moment. Not quite so bad that she could legitimately address their issues so they could move the fuck _on_ already and just get back to being siblings (because really, this separation was fucking ridiculous), but bad enough. Bad enough that she didn't feel so comfortable being alone with Dean most days, which wasn't entirely new (being cooped up with the same face for extended periods would give anyone cabin fever) and not alarming, but certainly indicative of the tension and crackling nerves between them.

She could tell his head was still reeling from her attempted murder (she had just had her brain re-wired by a ghost, thank you very damn much) and she knew he hadn't forgiven her just yet for what she'd said that night (again, not herself). Then, just mere hours after trying to plug Dean full of rock salt, their dad had finally, fucking _finally_, made contact with them. But was it to give them answers and include them on what-the-fuck-ever he'd been doing for the last six months? No.

Oh no.

It was to touch base and send them off on another job. To check in, sure, know they were okay and alive, yeah, but not ask for their help. Never that; God forbid that John-fucking-Winchester ever really _needed_ help from another human being, let alone his damn children. If he could have swallowed his pride for five fucking seconds he would have seen how willing both of them were to drop everything and meet him in California (bless you, caller ID), and this all could have been over much sooner.

Nope. None of that, thanks. That was too simple. Too easy, and John Winchester was notorious for never doing easy.

So, indignant at being sent off like a mindless robot once again, pissed that all she'd found out from their dad was that this monster was a demon (this complicated matters, but didn't really change anything) and that Dean was completely fine with not being in the loop, they'd left.

In hindsight, the following argument they'd had probably wasn't solely about their dad. They'd both said… things. Both snapped and bitten and bled and parted ways for a short while. Sam hadn't given any thought as to how that could hurt Dean at the time, and if she had, she would have been too pissed at him to care much. It wasn't that she'd meant to make him feel like he was an obligation of hers, like she was stuck with him only _because_ of finding their dad. She was just... well, they were both stubborn. Sam wanted to find Dad, and Dean _wouldn't_ because he'd been specifically told to stay away and stop looking, so she'd had no other choice but to leave him. Separate decisions fueled by anger and their own moral code (which had, admittedly, glaring differences when compared in some aspects), and Sam had once again left her brother.

It wasn't until she'd been walking on the street for an hour, picking at her memory of their parting, that she'd noticed the pained resignation on Dean's face at the time. Like he'd known this would happen, but knowing hadn't stopped it from hurting. Which sucked, because she wouldn't have _had_ to ditch him if Dean would just think on his own for once in his fucking life, and making his abandonment issues worse never made Sam happy. And what the fuck kind of family were they to take advantage of him and his blind devotion so badly that he now _expected_ to be left in the dust? Ugh.

One interesting and random friend(?) later, she flew back to her brother because no matter _how_ pissed they were, he would always pick up the phone for his Sammy. Always.

And she'd tried for three hours.

Saving his life had, if not earned her a little forgiveness, put him in a better mood. (Not surprising. Sam was always happy when she didn't die, too.) He hadn't looked like he'd totally believed Sam when she'd said she was sticking with Dean through to the end, but she couldn't help that now. She'd done the damage and was reaping the benefits, and it was just something she would have to live with in the forefront for a while.

Soooo…

Yeah, things were sketchy. Dean was still hurt and a little angry with all the shit thrown his way by his other (better) half, and Sam was dealing with the frustration of losing their dad again and her only hope of revenge.

Life had seen better days.

It was a dangerous gamble for her to search out a new Hunt when things were still so off with them, but that was exactly what she'd done. She'd heard the stories from Bobby and Pastor Jim, and knew the risks; being off with a partner very easily led to getting killed. However chancy it was, though, she knew it was the best thing that would get their head back in the game. Get their priorities straight.

She'd picked a simple case. It went after children, with a recorded number of nearly forty disappearances over the last sixty years. Poking around for two days, and they'd made the connection that they were dealing with a Rawhead. Sam had only come up against one of those creepy fucks a couple times in her life, and _that_ view she'd had to sneak from behind Dean's back. John had wanted to use her as bait the first time, and the only way her brother had agreed to it was if he was literally around the corner from her. As soon as it had shown up he'd leapt out and shoved her behind him. Sam had told herself that the only reason her dad had even suggested such an idea was because she had training and Dean, but she'd still had the nightmares. And she never trusted John the same way after. The memory of what a Rawhead looked like was fuzzy and slow to be dredged from the archived memories of a ten and fifteen year-old, but it was enough that she knew what to look for.

The day after they'd made the connection, two more kids went missing. Now, Sam wasn't exactly panicking yet because Rawheads didn't normally kill their prey right off the bat. Nah, they were sadistic shits and liked to play for a little bit before moving on, and the kids had been kidnapped from an orphanage the previous night, so there was a good chance they were still alive. Still, she didn't let that lull her into a false sense of arrogance and used her not-quite-panic to fuel her determination to track this thing down. Dean helped, and they spent the whole day scouring the town and outskirts relentlessly until there was only one place left.

_That_ side of the tracks.

To say it was the bad part of town would be the understatement of the century. Most of the houses were missing half of their structure, and the rest were barely what Sam would call livable. There weren't real roads, the government didn't see the point of federal funding when this area was hardly populated anyway, so Dean kept cursing up a storm whenever the Impala had trouble maneuvering through the mud.

Damn rain. By the time this Rawhead was gone, the car would be a whole new color.

It was nighttime now, evidence of the fucking _torrential downpour_ from earlier gone, leaving the sky clear in a way one can only find after an intense storm had passed. The moon was nearing full, just a few days shy, and Sam silently thanked God that she hadn't found evidence of a werewolf case before the Rawhead. She would have had to take it out of principal, and she just wasn't up for that. The only people she trusted unconditionally to do a sufficient job besides herself were Dean and her father (he was an asshole, and she hated him as much as she loved him, but he was the best damn Hunter Sam had ever met), and werewolves weren't quite at a level she was comfortable with right now. Especially so close to the full moon. Bitches got _nasty_ in the week leading up to the full moon.

There were fresh prints in the mud that Sam had pointed out, and they'd followed them until they led inside an abandoned and dilapidated house. The front door was missing, part of the roof had caved in on the second floor, all the windows were broken, and the steps leading up to the front porch had rotted away.

It was one of the nicer homes around.

Wordlessly they'd slipped out of the Impala and around to the back where her brother opened up the trunk and his arsenal of weapons. He kept the second door propped up with Sam's preferred pump-action sawed-off, but that was okay, she wouldn't be using it this time. Bullets didn't kill Rawheads. Neither did salt, iron (consecrated or otherwise), or silver. The only thing that worked on one of these creepers was electricity, and a _lot_ of it. She thought their thick skin might offer some kind of resistance (which is why Hunters had to practically deep-fry them to get the job done) but she didn't have proof, and there was no way to test it out, so eh.

Dean handed her a stun gun from deep within the abyss of metal and shells while Sam was fiddling with a flashlight. The battery was almost dead and the light kept flickering, but she'd turned it just so and it was fine for now. It'd last until the job was done, which was all that mattered anyway.

"What do you got those amped up to?" she asked. Dean reached for another stun gun and held it delicately in his hands.

"A hundred-thousand volts." Sam's eyebrows shot up into her hairline and she damn near dropped her gun, which would have sucked because the triggers on these models were sensitive as fuck and Dean would have been pissed as shit to lose one of the only two he had.

"_Damn_," she breathed. Dean grinned and grabbed his own flashlight, clicking the button to make sure it still worked.

"Yeah. I want this Rawhead extra-freaking-crispy." That was kind of obvious. Sam hadn't even known stun guns could charge that high. Dean, satisfied with his equipment, laid the pump-action back down and shut the first door on his weapons and the second on the whole trunk. "Now remember, you only get one shot with these things, so make it count."

Sam nodded and they both ran off towards the house. The moment her feet touched the saturated wood, she brought up her gun in her right hand. She held it steady by resting her right arm on her left arm, which she crossed under the gun to shine the light in front of her. Dean's position was identical to her own and it came to both of them with an ease that was only acquired after years of repetition and training.

They didn't bother going to check the second level. Rawheads had a thing about being underground, so the basement was really the best bet. Besides, half the staircase was gone, so unless Rawheads had some magical powers of levitation Hunters hadn't discovered these hundreds and thousands of years of doing the job, then the second floor was out. A quick sweep of the first floor while making sure to steer clear of the giant hole in the floor of the living room, and the siblings went straight for the basement.

Dean opened the door and they both crowded into the cramped doorway, shining their lights down the rickety wooden stairs to the cement floor below. Her brother, of course, took point, and they barely made a sound as they descended down the stairs. Dean kept his attention focused forward and to either side of the staircase as soon as they were visible. Sam turned around three-quarters of the way down the steps so she could look between them and make sure the Rawhead wasn't lying in wait. Satisfied that nothing was creeping up behind her, she turned forward just as she reached the bottom. Dean was off to her right, shining his light over all the clutter, keeping a watch for any sign of movement. She turned to face the opposite direction and was sweeping her eyes over the far wall with the only window in the whole room when there was a loud banging sound.

Sam was so keyed up that she practically jumped out of her black boots, but within half a second she had her flashlight and gun trained on the double doors to a large, weathered armoire. She didn't need to look to know that her brother had zeroed in on the noise as well. They stood stock till, waiting for something to leap from behind the two doors, but nothing happened and Sam loosened her grip on the flashlight a little.

"On three," she heard Dean mutter. It was hardly audible, barely more than him exhaling past his lips, but she'd caught it. She tensed her hands on her gun and waited with bated breath while her brother slowly counted up to three. When he reached the number, both Winchesters leapt forward and yanked the doors open, springing back and bringing their guns up in one fluid motion. There was a startled yelp and a delicate whimper from inside, and Sam's gaze traveled from where she'd thought the Rawhead would be snarling at her face down to where two small children were huddled together.

The girl on the left had strawberry blonde hair in braided pigtails that were starting to fall apart. A few loose strands curled around her face in large ringlets and the rest was tangled in a mess of knots and drying mud. Her eyes were hooded, and Sam couldn't see what color they were, but she could tell by the shine reflected from her flashlight that they were filled with tears. There were smudges of dirt on her cheek, nose, and above her left eye, and a small cut on the back of her right hand. She had her hands balled in fists and on either side of her head, and her knees were pulled up to her chin so that most of her face was hidden from sight. Her gray skirt was muddy, and her shoes were completely ruined, but that was all superficial, and Sam was glad for the lack of damage.

There was just something _wrong_ about a child getting hurt.

The other child, a boy, was smaller than his sister. His hair, in contrast with hers, was jet black. It fell over his ears and flopped in his eyes in a way that Sam could tell would be absolutely adorable if it had been clean. As it was, though, the black locks were matted to his forehead with sweat and mud in a wholly _un_attractive way. He had more smudges of earth on his face then the girl and all down the front of his clothes, so Sam guessed that he'd had trouble keeping up and kept falling over. His eyes were blown wide with fear and just as shiny as his sister's, but Sam could tell they were a dark color to match his hair by the way they swallowed up the light around him. She could just barely make out freckles on his cheeks, and there weren't any cuts that she could see. Again, she was relieved for their relatively good condition and thanked God for their good luck and His protection over these young ones.

Sam leaned forward and the boy snapped his attention over to her. She would have given him a comforting smile, but half of her attention was focused on the room behind her so that they wouldn't get taken by surprise so she didn't bother.

"Is it still here?" she whispered. The boy gulped and nodded, his bottom lip trembling. The girl wasn't even looking at them anymore, just staring at her brother with a glazed look and slowly rocking back and forth. Sam narrowed her eyes and turned away from the kids, keeping a sharp eye on the room around them while Dean leaned forward and reached for one of the boy's hands.

"Okay, grab your sister's hand," he whispered fervently, "we're gonna get you outta here." The boy latched on to Dean and pulled his sister, stumbling, out of their wooden hiding place. Dean gently extricated his hand and nudged the little boy's back. Christ he couldn't have been more than five, he barely came above Dean's knees. Was _Sam_ ever that small? "Alright, come on. Let's go, let's go."

Sam brought her gun up as the little kids tripped over themselves running to the steps. She followed them up, doing one last quick sweep, and lowered her weapon as she darted up the stairs. Halfway up, though, something shot out from between the steps and gripped her left ankle, just as she was starting to lift it up to the next step. With a started yelp, Sam lost her balance. She whirled her arms around, trying to find her center and keep from falling, but then the Rawhead pulled her foot towards him and she fell. She tried to throw herself to the right so that she didn't break her neck on the way down, but she hit her head on one of the cement walls with a loud crack. She groaned, dazed, and distantly heard her brother calling her name as she tumbled down the stairs. There was a high-pitched scream from somewhere, but it was difficult to catch anything past the rushing sound of her own blood.

Sam blinked once, forcing away the cobwebs from her brain just as her brother leapt to the side of the stairs, took aim, and fired his stun gun behind the staircase where the Rawhead had tripped his sister. There was an eerie groaning sound and some shuffling, so Sam knew he'd missed. She didn't hold it against him, though, it was black as shit back there. Her brother cursed and dropped the now useless gun from his hands, running back to the bottom of the steps.

"Sam, get 'em outta here!" With a hard shove, Sam pushed herself to her feet.

"You take this!" She tossed him her gun and whirled back to the children shivering at the top of the stairs. She bolted up and gave them both a gentle shove and they were off. The kids didn't seem to know which way was out, so Sam stepped between them, taking each of their hands in her own, and maneuvered them around until they were breathing fresh air again. Sam hopped off the porch, helping first the boy, then his sister, to the muddy ground and over to the waiting Impala.

Opening the back door, Sam shuffled the two kids inside and walked to the back of the car. She opened up only the trunk door, leaving the weapons undisturbed, as she grabbed their kit of emergency medical supplies. Gauze, fishing line, needles, hooks, varying sizes of bandages, some pain meds, hydrogen peroxide, and the occasional pilfered hand towel from past motel rooms. When they looked like they weren't infested with diseases, of course.

Sam brought the shoe box holding the supplies to the open door of the car and kneeled down in front of the girl. Sam could see now, in the moonlight, that the girl's eyes were a hazel color, a mix of greens and browns. Like a forest.

She made quick work of cleaning the cut on the back of her hand and putting a bandage on it before noticing with a small amount of sadness that the smudge above her eye wasn't a smudge, but a deep cut. She cleaned that too, murmuring soft apologies when it stung and made her cry, and put a bandage on that as well. She brushed the dirty hair away from the girl's face and smiled at the siblings for the first time.

"It's okay, you two are gonna be alright now. You're safe, okay?" The hesitated for a moment before sniffling and nodding. Sam set the shoe box next to the girl, giving her knee a soft squeeze. "I'm gonna go back and make sure my brother's okay. Watch out for yours, make sure you clean any of his cuts with this stuff right here okay? I'll lock the car so nothing can get in, so stay here. Both of you." The girl nodded meekly, trying furiously to wipe away the tears running down her face.

Sam forcibly shoved down the lock on the door with her hand before shutting it and running back into the house. She listened for a moment for any movement down in the basement, but heard nothing, and dashed down the stairs. She threw her dying flashlight all over the basement as soon as she could get a clear view of the place, but stopped when she found her brother.

Found her brother unconscious, to be exact.

Her first instinct was to run over to Dean and check he was still alive, because from her spot it was hard to tell if he was breathing, but years of training made her check the rest of the room for any movement. When she saw the Rawhead's body just a few feet away from her brother, though, she leapt off the stairs and flew to his side. She set down her flashlight and put fingers to her brother's neck to check for a pulse. It was there, but faint.

Why the fuck was it _faint_?

Sam looked at his right hand and saw Dean's fingers loosely wrapped around the stun gun. The coils were extending behind her towards the Rawhead's body, which was all well and good but that didn't explain why his heartbeat was fucking _faint_. She stopped breathing when she noticed her brother was sitting in a big puddle of water. With growing despair she looked behind and, sure enough, the Rawhead was crumpled at unnatural angles, also in the water.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, fucking _shit_. She could almost hear her sixth-grade science teacher explaining what a conductor was, and how simple it was for electricity to travel through water. She whirled back around to her brother. No, no, no, this wasn't supposed to happen. This was supposed to be an easy case where they just came in, killed the monster, and moved on. It was supposed to make things _better _between them, mortal danger was not part of the plan.

Sweating and cursing and trying to push back her panic, Sam slapped the side of her brother's face, calling his name, trying to wake him up, but his head just lolled around limply. She cursed once more and felt a frantic moment of blind panic. His face looked so sallow and pale, but that just had to be the poor lighting from the grimy window behind her. There was a sickly sheen of sweat on his skin, but that had to be from the Hunt and adrenaline in his system. Christ, it didn't even looked like he was breathing.

"Please, God," she whispered, clasping her hands together in front of her face and squeezing her eyes shut. "Please, not my brother. I need my brother, please don't take him from me. Oh dear God, _please_ just let me keep my brother."

Sam took a deep breath and exhaled slowly and then shoved her panic into a box so she could focus. She grabbed her flashlight and bent over and (with much groaning and yanking) pulled her brother to his feet. She couldn't call the police, there would be too many questions about the Rawhead and why they were passing through this neighborhood and other shit that Sam just couldn't think up lies for right now. She'd just have to drive to the hospital and pray harder than she ever had the whole time. Dean hated hospitals, hated the police, hated doctors, but he'd just been electrocuted, and she had no idea what the fuck else to do.

"_What do you got those amped up to?"_

"_A hundred-thousand volts."_

Shit.

* * *

**Dun-dun-DUN!**

**Just a guess, but I'm pretty sure in real life, if someone got electrocuted by 100,000 volts, their insides would fry. However, for the sake of this story, Dean doesn't turn to scrambled eggs! **

**Joy.**

**Peace.**


	2. Doctor, Doctor, Gimme the News

**'Lo!**

**I kept listening to "Silent Lucidity" by Queensryche when I was writing this chapter. It's such a sad song. The one that plays at the end of the episode "Heart" when Sam has to Kill Madison. 'Member? Makes me start crying every time, but oh, it's such a good song.**

**The music they've picked for this show is fantastic.**

**So. Here is another installment. I got another chance to go out for internet, I am not wasting it! A bit shorter than the previous chapter. Hope ya like it!**

**Leave me some love, y'all! Enjoy!**

**Kisses,**

**M**D

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. Credit goes to Eric Kripke and the writers for this show. I gain nothing from writing this, other than creative satisfaction, and little personal happiness. Enjoy!**_

* * *

Sam didn't have any good experiences with hospitals. Her father had gained an extensive know-how for emergency medical attention so that they could stay away from the buildings as much as possible, but sometimes Hunts went too wrong to patch up with dental floss and alcohol. There was that time Sam had been eleven, waiting in the car for her family to finish torching a Wendigo in Minnesota and it had come for her, taking everyone by surprise. It had smashed through the windows, dragging her over the broken glass, and she'd made a scream she didn't know humans could actually _make_ with their vocal cords as it crushed her legs. Her father hadn't been too far away, thankfully and it had lit up like a Christmas tree before long. She'd had more broken bones than her family could handle, though, and had been put in the hospital long enough to get them set again, but taken away soon enough that they were gone before people asked too many questions. Then there was that other time where she'd been thirteen, her brother seventeen, and they'd taken the Impala out for a night cruise. They hadn't even been Hunting, they'd just gone out for a night drive on the outskirts of Savannah, Georgia in mid-July, and Dean was always a careful driver no matter how fast he went, because he was absolutely in love with that car. But for all of his great driving skills, that didn't stop _others_ from being stupid drivers. The Impala wasn't totaled, and Sam hadn't gotten hurt too bad (just some stitches near her hairline), but Dean had needed to see a doctor for his crushed ribs. Then there were all the times their injuries had gotten infected, despite them cleaning the wounds. Or when Sam got chickenpox as a child. Or when Dean had broken an arm and a leg falling out of a tree.

Every time she'd been to a hospital was because something bad had happened, but despite all her negative experience, she didn't begrudge hospitals for their purpose. She saw their worth and had been thankful every time they'd needed one that there were doctors around to help. However, she _hated_ being in them. They made her twitchy. She couldn't tell if it was because of the paranoia that one of the nurses would find something wrong with the false insurance or if it was the smell of death and sickness that clung in the air. Whatever it was, she didn't want to be in them for longer than was necessary, and she became increasingly impatient to leave once she stepped through the doors.

This time was no different. In fact, she'd go so far as to say it was worse because this was her brother's life on the line, and no matter how many times she asked, no one would give her any fucking answers. She hadn't even seen him since she'd first brought him.

Seriously, what the fuck?

Sam was at a reception desk, drumming her fingers anxiously while the RN tapped away at a computer way too slow for Sam's liking. The nurse, Karrie her name tag said, frowned at something and looked up at Sam's worried scowl with unease. Sam bit her lip. There were cops off to her left waiting for her statement as to how they'd found the missing children, where, if she'd seen suspicious people in the area, how her brother had gotten hurt, blah blah blah. Didn't matter much what they wanted, they were making Sam nervous. She always got nervous when cops got involved. 'Course she didn't normally let her nervousness show, but her brother was currently in the hospital and for some _fucking_ reason, she couldn't see him yet, so she felt a little entitled.

"Ma'am, I am so sorry to ask," nurse Karrie said gently. Sam's fingers twitched. Ma'am? "There doesn't seem to be any insurance on file."

Oh. Shit. Right. She'd forgotten to give them the fake insurance card. Was that why she couldn't see her brother yet? Jesus fuck, these people and their fucking _money_.

"Right. Uhm…" Sam rooted around in her jacket until she felt her wallet and pulled out the right card, handing it to the nurse with a stiff smile. Karrie took it and glanced at the name.

"Okay, Ms.…" she crooked an eyebrow and cocked her head, "Burkowitz."

Sam did her best not to snort.

Putting her wallet back in her jacket she heaved a deep sigh and reluctantly faced the police officers waiting patiently for her attention. With an inward grimace, she shuffled over to them, shoving her hands deep into her jack pockets and wishing she could just fucking see her brother was okay, already. Was he awake? Was he conscious? Was he even _alive_?

"Look, uh, we can finish this up later." The cop closest to her offered. Sam shrugged and flicked her eyes over to the nurse's station when she caught sudden movement.

"No, no, it's okay." She turned back to the officer, glancing at the name printed on his jacket. _A. Donovan_. His partner's jacket read _P. Garrick. _Officer Garrick was scribbling something down on his note pad, so Sam dismissed him. He didn't look like he was going to say much. She faced officer Donovan to feed him the fake story she'd whipped up on the way over.

"We were just taking a shortcut through the neighborhood and, uhm…" Sam trailed off as a nurse walked up to Karrie and muttered something in her ear, but she turned back to the cops dejectedly when she saw that Karrie wasn't trying to get her attention. "Uhm, our windows were rolled down, and we heard some screaming when we drove past the house. And we stopped. Ran in."

Short. Simple. Sweet. The simplest lies were the easiest to tell. The more details you added to a lie, Sam had discovered, and the more it actually _sounded_ like a lie.

"And you found the kids in the basement?" Donovan asked. Sam nodded silently. Garrick jotted something else down and flipped his notebook shut while his partner smiled down at her encouragingly. "Well, thank God you did."

Sam shrugged, wondering how many more fucking _questions_ she has left when she heard a door shut close behind her. Instinctively (she had a thing about people sneaking up on her) she turned around and saw the same doctor she'd first talked to when bringing her brother in. Relief and panic shot through her and she barely remembered the cops were still there before running over to finally get her answers. The officers thanked her for her help, and she didn't spare them one backwards glance as she walked briskly up to the man with the green scrubs and the white coat.

He was tall, though not as tall as her brother. His head was bald, and he looked pretty young for his profession. Late twenties at the most. His skin was a rich brown color, and his eyes a dark black. He had just the shadow of the _start_ of a beard on his face, and she could tell underneath his uniform he spent a good deal of time at the gym. His name was Dr. Besson.

"Hey, Doc." Sam hedged. She needed to know what was wrong with her brother. Of course she did. It had been four fucking _hours_ since she'd brought him here and she hadn't gotten any answers or seen him once, so something was seriously wrong, and that wasn't knowledge that could be kept from her. But she didn't _want_ to know. As soon as she knew she'd have to deal with that knowledge, and what if it… what if he…

"Is he - ?"

"He's resting," Dr. Besson assured her. She would have been more comforted by that if his eyes hadn't looked so grave. She gulped.

"And…?" He hesitated before continuing on.

"The electrocution triggered a heart attack. Pretty massive, I'm afraid. His heart, it's… damaged." He paused, letting that sink in, but Sam didn't want the time to think about this. She didn't want that oppressive silence. She just needed it all straight and fast. Like ripping off a band-aide.

"_How_ damaged?"

"We've done all we can. We can, uh, try and keep him comfortable at this point, but I give him a couple weeks at most, maybe a month."

...

This felt a little worse than ripping off a band-aide.

"No, no, there's – there's gotta be something you can do," Sam whispered, her nails digging into her palms in her pockets, "some kind of treatment…?" Dr. Besson shook his head sadly and fixed her with a hard, sympathetic stare.

"We can't work miracles." And didn't that just feel like a punch in the gut. "I really am sorry." Sam took in a shaky breath, doing her best to stop her knees from shaking and dropped her eyes to the floor. She mumbled a thanks and sniffled as she shuffled past him and towards the room where her brother was holed up in. So… a doctor had just told her that her brother was dying. A couple weeks to live, a month if they got exceptionally good odds, but Winchesters had infamously _bad_ luck, so for all she knew, he'd be dead by tomorrow.

'_No,'_ she growled to herself. _'NO.'_ She shook her head and set her shoulders back. Fucking _no_, she refused to accept that Dean was dying. That man was a doctor, he had no idea that the supernatural existed, and that would change things. Tip the odds in their favor this once, just this once. There had to be some witch somewhere, or some contact of their father's that could help. Give her answers this hospital couldn't. She positively _refused_ to just roll over and accept that her brother was dying so young and leaving her by herself.

_Ally by herself…_

With that thought giving her some small amount of comfort, Sam walked up to her brother's door and knocked twice before opening it up and stepping inside. It wasn't a singles room, there were four beds with wrap-around curtains for privacy, but he was the only one in here at the moment, so the three other beds didn't matter much. Sam could hear the sound of a TV off to her left and on the far side of the room. She inhaled deeply, doing her best to gain some kind of control over face, and walked to the foot of Dean's bed.

He had a mini TV on a small table in front of him and was flipping through each channel with a bored expression. He had a hospital gown on and wires that were disappearing under the thin cloth towards his chest. Sam noted with an amount of sadness that the amulet necklace she'd given him the Christmas she'd found out about the supernatural was gone. Probably off with the rest of his personal affects. An IV was hooked up to his left arm, but Sam had no idea what medicine they were giving him, so she ignored it. The beeping of the EKG was drowned out by the noise of the TV, but by watching the screen she could see his heart rate was slower than normal. Dean's skin still looked sallow, though not nearly as bad as in the basement of that shithole. There, he'd looked like his skin was going to crack and flake away with any sudden movements, and she'd never seen him that pale in her whole life. Now, it had some color, though the gauntness hadn't left his face. His eyes had some discoloration, making him look like he hadn't slept in months… which wasn't really all that wrong (neither of them slept much), but he'd never really _looked_ it before, so it was still kinda weird.

Sam stood at the foot of his bed just watching him breathe, taking comfort in the fact that his eyes were even open right now. She'd been so scared in the car on the way over. She'd plowed through four red lights and three stop signs to get to the hospital, trying her best not to cry. Dean had been slumped over in her usual spot on the passenger's side, looking like he was seconds away from death, and by the time she'd gotten him through the door, the two children behind her, she'd given up on holding back her tears. Sam didn't cry at much anymore, she was too disconnected from the world to get really attached to anything or anyone enough to cry over, but Dean had always been a soft spot for her. Just like she was for him. He was the one area in her life where reason and logic kind of fuzzed over when she got desperate, and there was absolutely nothing Sam refused to do for him. He was the only person on the planet that she could completely relax around, and he didn't expect anything from her that she wasn't willing to give. He treated her like a capable Hunter, unlike their father, and was ruthless in his protection of her. Her need for independence resented him for still thinking she actually _needed_ his protection, but a bigger part of her, the little sister part of her, was secretly happy Dean still treasured her so much.

Not that he'd ever admit to that. God help him if he ever admitted to caring. But that was okay. He didn't have to admit anything. She knew. And he knew she felt the same way, relied on him just as much as he tried not to rely on her (some stupid reason about needing to seem strong or some such shit like that). But once she'd gotten him through the doors to the ER, just like that, he'd been whisked away and she'd had to wait two hours to find out he wasn't even _in_ them emergency room anymore, spent another half an hour hunting him down, and then the rest of the time talking to different nurses and doctors, then eventually the police. She'd nearly reached the end of her rope with the fucking people in this place by the time she could finally see Dean, and now that she was standing here, watching him breathe and flip through the channels, it was all she could do not to collapse in the chair next to him and cry all over again.

She'd been scared. _So scared_…

"Have you ever actually _watched_ daytime TV?" he croaked. She winced at the sound of his voice. It was too raw, too abrasive, with disuse. It wavered and cracked weakly, and there was just something so very not-right with her brother being so… helpless. "It's terrible." Sam shook her head, choking on her own words, and looked down at her boots. She tried to find the strength to do this, to simply talk with her big brother, but it was a moment before she had it. She sighed, rolled her shoulders, and looked up at him. His eyes were still glued to the TV in a kind of disgusted fascination.

"I talked to your doctor," she murmured. The only sign of recognition was a twitch in the corner of his mouth.

"That fabric softener teddy bear? Ooh," he shuddered and shook his head, "I'm gonna hunt that little bitch _down_." Sam pursed her lips, unimpressed.

"_Dean_." He finally pulled his eyes away from the television screen and looked at her with resigned acceptance written all over his face. Well, fuck that, she wasn't gonna let _him_ just roll over and take this either.

"Yeah," he sighed, and clicked off the TV, tossing the remote down on the bed. "Alright, well… looks like you're gonna leave town without me."

"What are you talking about? I'm not gonna leave you here."

"Hey, you better take care of that car, or I swear I'll haunt your ass." Sam glared at her brother, grinding her teeth together so she didn't start screaming and crying and punching and hugging. Was it too much to expect that on his (_not_) deathbed, he could be serious for this one _fucking_ conversation? Of course it was. How could she expect any different from her brother, especially in this situation? It wasn't like he knew how to handle his own fear and emotional crap. Hell, Sam barely had a grip on herself and she was definitely more in-touch with her emotions than her older brother. He was deflecting, trying to draw attention away from how petrified he was so that he wouldn't seem weak. She was used to it, she'd dealt with it her whole life.

But right now it was just pissing her off.

"I don't think that's funny," she hissed past her gritted teeth. She was clenching her fists so hard that her palms were starting to throb.

"Aw, come on, it's a little funny," Dean muttered, attempting a smirk that looked more like a grimace. Sam felt her anger melt away at that. What was the point at being angry with him? She didn't have time to waste being angry. She didn't have time to throw away worrying about how off they'd been anymore, she just needed to fix this. That was all she had the time to focus on. All of their fights, their arguments, their unsettled feelings, it was all dust in the wind as far as Sam was concerned.

Faced with her brother's own mortality, none of that mattered much anymore.

Sam shuffled her feet, releasing her fists and looking out the windows to her right. It was a sunny morning, and she could see a bird nesting in a tree right on the other side of the glass. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. For some reason she couldn't place, that made Sam achingly sad.

"Look, Sammy, what can I say? It's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story." Sam blinked at the stinging in her eyes and threw a helpless look over at her brother. She felt like she'd just been kicked when she was down. What the hell was _wrong_ with all these people, just fucking _accepting_ that her brother was dying? Why couldn't they see that it couldn't - _wouldn't_ - happen, that Sam was going to save him? Why was everyone making this so fucking difficult for her?

"Don't talk like that, all right?" Dean frowned at the off tone in her of voice. "We still have options."

"What options?" he scoffed. "Yeah, burial or cremation." Sam gaped at her brother, speechless. She'd never heard him speak that bluntly about something so delicate before. "And I know it's not easy, but… I'm gonna die. And you can't stop it."

Well hell, if she hadn't been set on the idea before, she sure was now, if only to rise to the challenge. She bristled, her vision swimming, and she didn't even care when she felt a tear roll down her cheek. She glared out the window, boring her eyes into the blue bird chirping happily in the morning sun as if she could set it one fire before sniffling and looking over at her brother. He looked a little guilty, which just made her pissed all over again, because _really_? His heart was slowly and painfully giving out, and he felt guilty that she was crying about it? She wiped away her tears angrily and set her jaw. She could see the light in his eyes go off when he recognized her expression and the determination in her body language.

"Watch me," she growled. She narrowed her eyes at her brother, daring him to even _try_ and convince her otherwise. But he didn't. He didn't because he knew. He knew exactly how she felt, and he knew exactly how frantic she was to stop the inevitable from happening, how she fucking refused to face what everyone else was telling her as truth. More than that, he knew that if their positions were switched, he'd already have three different options lined up to try to save his sister's life. He didn't have the room to talk back to her about this. So, he said nothing, just reached for the remote again and flicked the TV back on.

Sam stood there a moment longer, forcibly relaxing her muscles, before she walked over to a chair next to his bed and fell on to the lumpy fabric with a world-weary sigh, wiping the last of her tears out of her eyes. She scooted her chair forward so she was closer to his bed and crossed her arms on his mattress, leaning her head down to rest. She listened with closed eyes as her brother settled on Jerry Springer, the 37 hours she'd gone without sleep finally catching up with her. She snuffled wearily when she felt a hand softly carding through her hair, slowly drifting off to unconsciousness to the sound of the gentle timbre that was Dean's voice as he hummed some nameless lullaby she didn't recognize.

She'd fix this. She'd fix it all… just as soon as she'd had a quick nap.

* * *

**The picture I had in my head of this ending scene was so cute. Samantha, with her head on Dean's mattress, her head on her arms, and him running his fingers through her hair while watching Jerry Springer. The little sister asking her big brother, without words, to make her feel better.**

**D'AWWWW.**

**I dunno if it was in character for him, but it was freaking adorable, so shut up.**

**You know you like it. ;D**

**Peace!**


	3. Someday, You Will Die

**Hola, compadres!**

**Chapter threeeee. Oh goody. I can only imagine how frustrated our darling Sam was those three days of research. I don't envy her. Yeesh. I changed the title. I thought this fit a might better than "The Power of Faith," but that's just me.**

**I haven't yet written chapter four, so that will be a bit more of a wait than the rest of this has been so far. Sorreh. Also, Firday the 13th!**

**And now comes the part where I shamelessly demand (beg) for you to leave me a review of love and critique! Y'all know what to do.**

**Hugs,**

**MD**

**__****Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. Credit goes to Eric Kripke and the writers for this show. I gain nothing from writing this, other than creative satisfaction, and little personal happiness. Enjoy!**

* * *

Day one had been a spectacular failure.

Sam had woken up when a nurse had come in to tell her visiting hours were over, and blinked stupidly when she saw that it was dark outside. Dean had also been sleeping, so she'd left with a quick kiss to his hair and headed back to their motel. From there, she'd scoured through their dad's journal for every contact number she could find calling up old friends, not reaching a few, some swearing they wanted nothing to do with John Winchester, but all getting the message that she needed help for her brother Dean. It was late morning by the time she'd finished.

When she'd exhausted everything that she could through the phone, she turned to her ever-faithful laptop. She'd been led around in circles for hours, though, on how to properly take care of your heart, what food to stay away from for certain heart troubles, specific heart diseases and their all-natural treatments respectively. Frustrated, she'd gone to the library and looked at dozens of books, copying just as many pages that looked like they might even remotely help, and picked up an Asian sesame-chicken-almond-spinach wrap thingy for lunch on her way back to the motel. She'd thrown the papers on to the bed and ran off to go visit Dean for a little while.

He'd been watching cartoons when she'd walked in to the room that he held by himself, but he'd rushed to flip the channel when he saw his sister coming. She'd caught a flash of yellow sponge and a squirrel in a space suit and smiled when she realized he'd been entranced by Spongebob Squarepants.

She went easy on him, and pretended like she hadn't noticed.

They'd talked for a little while about nothing in particular, the sound of the TV a comforting background noise to their conversation. She didn't stay long, just long enough to make sure he was still doing okay and reassure him that she wasn't giving up, even though she hadn't found anything. The sad smile on his face when she said that made her all the more resolved to her task.

So, she'd holed back up in the motel room an hour later, and started sorting through the different copied pages she'd gathered. One was on different chakras, and how certain gateways being blocked could cause different problems with the body. An interesting concept, but not exactly comforting or the solution she was looking for. There were a couple articles on heart care (again), and when the words started swimming off the page, she decided it was time for a break. She showered and went out for coffee and came back to continue her research.

This bled in to day two, which wasn't quite as bad.

She'd had breakfast at the hospital, deciding to eat with Dean that morning. He'd asked her how research was going, and she'd told him she was still looking. She'd watched him carefully as he picked at his oatmeal with fresh strawberries and apples, disheartened by the slight amount of food that entered his body. The reddish color around his eyes looked worse, and he didn't talk much, so Sam talked for him.

She told him about things she'd done and seen in the two years they'd been apart. Told him about how she'd been so excited about her classes that she'd ended up in the wrong building her very first day of school and been late by 45 minutes. Talked about the two jobs she'd had to juggle with her more-than-full-time schedule so that she had living expenses. Told him how she'd nearly finished her undergraduate studies in two years instead of the regular three because she'd CLEP tested out of a good chunk of her classes and had taken up night courses so she could speed up the process. Told him about how she'd studied criminal justice and pre-law along with a little dab into criminal forensics. Told him how she'd never had an IQ test until college and been inordinately pleased when she found out it was 153. She told him about friends of hers (carefully avoiding the topic of Roger because as much as she _wanted_ to tell him… she wasn't quite there yet), and about how much she'd missed having him around all the time. She told him how she'd dialed his number every night the first three months because she was all by herself and didn't know _anybody_ and was so terrified of doing all this alone and needed her brother, but had never actually worked up the guts to press the call button.

At some point, he'd fallen asleep to the sound of her talking, though she didn't know when exactly that was. Sam hadn't talked that much about her life since being with her friends in Palo Alto (talking to that shrink did _not_ count. She was forced into that situation.). She wasn't sure how wise it was to tell him so much about a time period that they were still hurting over, but she didn't have anything else he didn't already know about her. And besides, if he heard about her when she wasn't around him, maybe he'd understand her better and they'd fight less. Maybe.

Probably not.

She'd left him then, sleeping, and headed back to the motel room to continue her research, picking the internet back up. She narrowed her finds down to a few possible doctors that might be willing to do some experimental treatments (hey, the supernatural was definitely her area of expertise, but having normal options didn't hurt either) before she'd realized it was six in the evening and she was starving.

And then she finally caught a break.

She'd been getting herself a turkey and ham sandwich with Swiss cheese and spicy mustard when Sam got a call back. A man named Joshua, and one of the people she hadn't been able to get a hold of yesterday. He asked her what was wrong, and she told him the short version, asking if he knew any hoodoo specialists or anything that could help. No, not hoodoo, he'd said, but he had a faith healer over in Nebraska that just might work. Roy LeGrange was his name, and this guy was (supposedly) the real deal. Joshua had seen it with his own eyes; a man with small-cell lung cancer in the late stages had been completely healed right before his own eyes. No Latin mutterings or spells, no signs of demonic possessions, nothing, just a guy happy to do the Lord's work and cure the ill.

Sam was so excited after the phone call that she'd skipped out on the sandwich and rushed back to the motel room to check the guy out. As grateful as she was for the tip, and as much as she wanted it to be that easy, she would feel much more at ease if she had her own pool of information to draw from.

He had his own website and everything. Lots of it was religious babble that she didn't pay attention to, but there was a section on services and times, and she wrote all of that information down in the back of their dad's journal in the only available space left. She's picked apart his whole website, and for the most part, it was nondescript. No flashy lights or bragging about his apparent powers of healing the sick. Just a humble mention under the location of his "church" that Roy accepted only one patient per service for the Lord's work. Sam supposed that it could be considered a good sign that this guy wasn't so flashy about what he did. Meant he didn't rely on theatrics to get people to show up, they showed up because what he did _worked_. At least, that's what everyone said in his feedback column.

Elated to have a possible lead, Sam went back to the deli and bought her sandwich just as it was closing. It was going on ten, so visiting hours were over and she wouldn't be able to tell Dean until tomorrow, but she was fine with that. Gave her more time to poke around.

Which is what she spent all night doing.

She'd changed into jeans so worn through that they were more like sweat pants and thrown on an oversized, greem sweater she'd stolen from their dad years ago when Sam decided that Roy LeGrange was the way to go. It was like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders with that decision. She finally had something to _do_ about all this. Had a way to make this better.

Sam smiled for the first time since pulling into this fucking town and drained the rest of her coffee, digging her silver blackberry out from the mess of papers on her bed to give her dad a call. It was unlikely that he would pick up, but she held on to the hope that this time would be different since she'd talked to him just over a week ago.

She was wrong.

"This is John Winchester, I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son Dean. 866-907-3235. He can help." Sam nearly growled at the recording of their father's deep, rumbling voice. For all he knew, Sam could be calling to tell him Dean was already dead, and he wouldn't know until he checked his fucking messages, _if_ he checked his fucking messages. Why? Because he couldn't be bothered on this Hunt that was more important than his own flesh and blood.

He was so lucky that Sam had no fucking clue where he was.

"Hey Dad, it's Sam," she grumbled, half-heartedly trying to keep her voice from sounding as angry as she felt. "Uh… you probably won't even _get_ this, but uh, it's Dean. He's sick and… the doctors say there's nothing they can do." She couldn't help how her voice quavered when she said that, but no, she told herself firmly, she had a lead, she had a solution, she was going to fix this. They were going to be okay; _Dean_ was going to be okay. "But they don't know the things we know right? So, um… don't worry about it, 'cause I'm, uh… I'm gonna do whatever it takes to get him better. Just… wanted you to know."

Sam jabbed the end button and threw her phone down on the pile of papers angrily, feeling her blood run hot underneath her skin. The next time she saw her father, she was going to break his fucking face. How dare he not answer the phone for his children at least _once_ in a blue fucking moon! Fine, so he needed to go off the grid because it wasn't safe, what_ever_. He should still at least call and make sure his children were even alive every now and then.

Asshole.

Sam was biting down on her thumb nail grouchily, grumbling curses under her breath when there were two loud knocks on the door to her motel room. She pulled her eyebrows together. It couldn't be the front office, she didn't have to worry about paying for the room for another day, and she hadn't ordered any delivery, so… what? Now that she thought about it though, she hadn't had any breakfast and it was already eleven. Actually, she hadn't eaten since that sandwich at ten last night.

Well, shit.

Slowly, Sam stood to her feet and padded over to the door silently in her socks. She pulled open the door and gaped when she saw her brother leaning against the jam, grimacing and staring balefully at the soda machine right next to their room. Sam's jaw dropped. She was surprised, happy, angry, and confused all at once. But mostly confused.

"What… what the hell are you _doing_ here?" she demanded. Dean drew his attention away from the vending machine and limped inside the room. Sam scooted over so he could lean against the dresser just inside the doorway while he caught his breath.

"I checked myself out." She rolled her eyes. That was obvious, what she wanted to know was _why_ he'd checked himself out.

"Are you _crazy_?"

"Ugh, I'm not gonna die in a hospital when the nurses aren't even hot." He smirked weakly at her from the corner of his eyes and Sam shook her head in exasperation. She'd had just about enough of him making jokes about his own demise and acting like he didn't give a shit he'd be dead soon.

No. No, no, no. Not dead. He wasn't gonna die. She had a plan, she had an option. She would fix this.

She would _fix_ this.

Sam gently shut the door and fisted her hands on her hips, leveling her brother with a hard stare.

"You know, this whole, 'I laugh in the face of death' thing? It's crap. I can see right through it." Dean lost his smirk and glared at her for a moment before it melted of his face and was replaced by exhaustion.

She was having trouble staying mad at him, too.

"Yeah, whatever." Dean pushed off from the dresser and started limping over to the chair by the bed, and Sam shot her hands out, catching his weight under his elbows so she could help him over and ease him down to sit. "Have you even slept? You look worse than me."

Sam thought about that for a moment. No, actually, she hadn't slept. Not since she'd napped the whole day away in his hospital room. Wow, damn, that meant she hadn't slept in three days. Curious, that she didn't feel that tired.

Maybe it had something to do with the eight extra-large coffees.

"Yeah, well, I've been scouring the internet for the last three days," she admitted. Dean melted against the back of the chair, his hands shaking slight when he was finally able to sit. "Called every contact in Dad's journal."

"For what?" Sam crooked an eyebrow at her brother. Seriously? He couldn't be serious, right?

"For a way to help you, duh." Dean's eyes lit up with what Sam had come to recognize as pity these last couple days. He felt bad for her because he truly believed he was going to die, and she refused to give up and just let it go. Frustration tried to come to life within her because she didn't want pity from him, never did and never would, but it snuffed out just as quickly. She didn't want to waste a second being angry with her brother anymore over something stupid and trivial.

"One of Dad's friends, Joshua, he called me back. Told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist." A term she used loosely and specifically so that her brother would agree to go. If he found out Roy LeGrange used the power of God for his healing, there was no way she'd get him to leave town. Sam had no idea why, but Dean seemed pathologically skeptical of anything involving God, and he'd shoot down her idea before she ever got a chance to see if it worked.

She wasn't lying to him, exactly. She wasn't. She was just... letting him draw his own (wrongful) conclusions about what kind of specialist she meant.

Completely different than lying.

"You're not gonna let me die in peace, are you?" Sam raised her eyebrows, mildly offended that he just assumed she'd give up after only three days.

"I'm not gonna let you die, _period_. We're _going_." She kept her voice hard and commanding like she'd heard him use on her plenty of times, leaving no room for argument. She half expected him to tell her to watch her tone, but much to her surprise, Dean nodded wearily and let his eyes slip closed.

"Didn't 'spect so." She nodded, because how could he honestly expect her to let this go, ever? "Get some sleep before we leave, though. If you haven't slept in three days, there's no way I'm letting you drive my girl." She laughed tiredly and nodded.

"Yeah, yeah. You get some sleep too, you need the rest more than I do." She got up, stretching the muscles in her shoulders that were cramping from being hunched over for too long and started cleaning off the bed. She stacked all the papers into a neat pile, shut down her computer, and put everything on the floor . "Can't believe you checked yourself out of the hospital," she muttered grumpily. Dean grinned, keeping his eyes closed, but said nothing.

"Alright, I'll help you. Get in bed." Dean scowled.

"I'm not some cripple, Sammy, I can do it myself." Sam rolled her eyes.

"Humor me," she said sarcastically. He grumbled something unintelligible but allowed her to gingerly pull him out of the chair and settle him in to what had been her bed. She pulled off his shoes and set them next to her computer, making sure to wrap him comfortably in the sheets and blankets. She didn't know why he wasn't wearing his own clothes if he'd checked out, but mentally shrugged. Wasn't all that important. He got his necklace back, she'd noticed with some small feeling of joy; he'd looked almost like a different person without it. He had his jeans, a white cotton t-shirt and a gray hoodie that zipped up the front.

He moaned appreciatively and nuzzled further into the blankets before his breathing quickly evened out and deepened. Sam sat on the opposite bed, watching him for a few minutes, resisting the odd urge to run her fingers through his hair. It was fine when they were kids and Sam didn't know they weren't supposed to touch because affection was taboo, but now… now they didn't touch each other like that unless it was out of a desperate need for a confirmation of life because one of them had almost died. Although, using that logic, Sam could mostly convince herself the sudden want to feel his hair fell under that category.

Her hand twitched.

Sam sighed and pulled the sweater off her head, falling back on the bed in her old jeans and a black spaghetti strap tank top. She rolled away from her brother and shut her eyes, taking a deep, content breath, and drifting off to sleep.

* * *

The growl of the Impala as she sped down the highway vibrated up through her feet and deep in her chest, comforting her. Sam had one had loosely around the wheel, and the other propped against the window, leaning her temple against her fist. Dean's Johnny Cash tape was purring softly through the speakers, on low because her brother was still tired and kept wandering in and out of sleep. Sam had slept longer than she'd wanted to, but three days of no sleep was hard to make up for in only the two hours she'd planned on getting, so she'd forgiven herself for the six she'd stolen instead.

When she'd woken up, she'd hopped in to the shower, not liking the grimy feel of her hair or the sharp smell she had after sifting through the same information for two days straight. After she felt cleaner and more human, she'd gone out for breakfast. Well… more an early dinner because it was five in the afternoon now, but she hadn't eaten that morning, so she considered it more of a breakfast. Dean had still been sleeping when she'd left and hadn't moved a muscle when she'd gotten back.

She allowed herself some relief at how much rest he was getting so she avoided her blinding panic at how exhausted this was making her brother.

She'd wolfed down her food and set aside Dean's portion of omelet egg whites with bell peppers and turkey sausage (no fucking way was she letting him eat anything greasy right now) for when he felt hungry and left to take care of business. She checked out of their motel room, paying the cancelation fee without much fuss, and packed up their things as silently as possible so as not to disturb her brother. When their bags were safely stowed in the trunk of the Impala, Sam had gone about wiping the place down and removing the protective charms and sigils Dean had first placed when they'd arrived a week ago.

Had it really only been a week?

It wasn't until she had finished everything else that she'd woken up her brother just enough to move him out to the car where he'd promptly slumped against the window and fallen back asleep.

And now, here she was, two hours on the road, the white and yellow lines whizzing past her hypnotically. She was just about to cross over in to Nebraska and then it would be another hour before she got to the town, and then she'd have to find somewhere to stay because they'd left a little late and she'd already missed the service for today. They would have to wait until tomorrow.

Sam hummed along when Johnny Cash started singing harmonies with June Carter Cash in the song "Jackson" as she passed a blue semi. She wasn't going too fast, just fast enough to pass everyone else. Dean jolted awake blearily when his head fell forward and startled him out of his slumber. Sam glanced over at his heavy-lidded eyes sharply, watching as they blinked heavily a few times before falling shut again, his head lolling back to the window. She bit her lip in concern and pressed the gas a little harder, making the car jump forward as it sped up suddenly.

She just… Sam just had to take things one at time. She couldn't look at the bigger picture, there were too many variables, too many outside forces that could rip this tentative plan to shreds when there was already a big chance nothing good would happen anyway. She had to zero in on the details she could control to keep her overwhelming fear and anxiety at bay. She had to be the strong one this time, for her brother. She had to keep her shit together so that he wouldn't stress over how this was hurting _Sammy_, and he could concentrate on getting better. Or getting picked.

Whatever.

Sam puffed out a breath with some relief when she passed the "Welcome to Nebraska!" sign on the side of the road, leaving behind the great state of Colorado happily. Now she just had to travel east for a ways until she got to Ogallala and could backtrack northwest and ultimately reach her destination of Oshkosh. She had enough gas to make it and find some place to fill up before the Impala spluttered out and died as long as she didn't speed up much anymore. Which was hard. Really, really hard.

Logically, Sam knew that it didn't matter how fast she drove, they'd already missed the service and Dean wasn't getting healed today.

And yet...

She felt this ticking in the back of her brain, like she could _hear_ how her brother's clock was running out, and it made her… antsy. She couldn't sit still for more than a couple seconds before that ticking sensation made her skin itch to move, to make something happen, to make this okay.

Sam was nothing if not devoted to her brother.

And yeah, she recognized that her level of dependency to Dean extended above and beyond what was considered normal for siblings, but she had her upbringing to blame for that. She had no choice but to trust Dean as much as she did because if she didn't trust him, they died. Dean was so ingrained in her life, in with her very soul, and was such a necessity for her existence that she couldn't picture what it would be like if he died. It was a big blank wall if she tried. An impossibility. Dean couldn't die because he was always there. It was just a fact of her life.

She was a Hunter, the sky was blue, the sun rose in the east, and Dean was there.

Johnny Cash's tape ended and silence filled the cabin of the Impala, save for her brother's light snoring. Sam unclenched her left hand and passed it over her face. She was fifty minutes outside of Oshkosh.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock_.

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick..._

Sam pressed harder on the gas and Dean stumbled out of sleep as the car shot forward once more.

* * *

**Hope you all enjoyed it! I'm crossing my fingers that this latest episode lives up to all the previous ones.**

**It would reassure me if you'd press that lovely button and leave a review.**

**Peace.**


	4. Fear is the Heart of Love

**Yo!**

**So... I have good news.**

**I HAVE INTERNET AGAIN!**

**Yeah. I know. I 'bouts had a heart attack when it happened. Legit.**

**So! What does that mean for the story? Well, it means that I will get the chapters up as soon as I've typed them now, which should be happening a lot more often. Hopefully. I dunno how much faster it'll be, though. My sister is crashing here with her family for a few weeks until her apartment is move-in ready, and I now have two toddlers and one baby in the house.**

**Very distracting.**

**But I can promise that I will try and get everything up a lot faster!**

**In other news... I would like to give a special, public shout-out to Into the Nothing. Thank you so much for all the comments, reviews, feedback, and every lovely thing you have given to me in the time I had no internet. You are such a lovely person, and you made me smile when I was very, very bored. I can't thank you enough for how much you helped drive me to keep the stories going! To everyone else, Nothing's story "You'll Accomp'ny Me" is quite the fantastic read for any Supernatural fan. I highly recommend you go over and check it out. It's long, but every chapter is worth the read. Nothing's characters are very true to the story, and her OCs are highly entertaining.**

**Alright! I've taken up enough space babbling and talking. I'll let y'all get to the story now!**

**I hope you enjoy! I spent a long time writing this. Not sure how I feel about the beginning but I like it more towards the end.**

**Please leave me reviews! They help me find the mojo to write.**

** Loves! Kisses!**

**MD**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. Credit goes to Eric Kripke and the writers for this show. I gain nothing from writing this, other than creative satisfaction, and little personal happiness. Enjoy!**_

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Samantha took it as some kind of poetic irony that it was raining when she woke up. Like the world was unhappy that she was trying to cheat the laws of nature. It was barely a drizzle when her eyes glided open at five in the morning, but she could tell by clouds off in the distance that it would worsen before the day was out. Dean was sleeping fitfully in the bed next to hers, his breathing slightly labored, and the color around his eyes was darker. More purple than red now, which was definitely cause for concern in Sam's book.

Honestly, it wasn't uncommon for him to sleep fitfully; it sort of came with the job. Dean always had a part of him that never shut off, that was always listening for changes in his environment so that he could wake to fully conscious immediately if there were any threats. But this was different. This wasn't about him being only half-asleep (it seemed that with a dying heart, he couldn't keep that part of his brain awake, though), ready to go at a moment's notice. This was about him feeling the pain, even in unconsciousness.

Screw the circle of life, this was her fucking _brother_, and the natural order of things be damned, she wasn't going to let him die.

Sam had stretched and gone through her usual morning routine when she'd woken up, silently lamenting her single hour of sleep. She'd been up late last night trying to find out more information on this LeGrange man (unsuccessfully) and had woken up with a shock from a fitful dream of children screaming and things slinking behind her in the dark. Dean, however, was getting the most sleep she'd ever seen him get in one go. She mused in the shower that morning, with a healthy dose of dry amusement, that if she ignored the reason he was sleeping so much was because Dean was _dying_, it'd be an almost-blessing. Lord knew how much he needed one of those.

Speaking of…

As Sam settled in to her clothes for the day, she prayed, long and hard for her brother. She could have given a completely valid and factually sound argument as to why God should nudge fate to save her brother today, but Sam figured the Big Guy would either help, or he wouldn't and there wasn't much she could say to convince _God_ to choose the right outcome. 'Sides, she wasn't praying, really, to ask (beg, plead, demand, please, please, ohgod_please_) for Him to save her brother. No, it was more for her own stress relief and confiding in some faceless entity( that might not even care when He had the whole fucking _universe_ at his fingertips), so that she had the will to face the day and put on that brave face for her older brother. Telling God with whispers no louder than the steam rolling around in the cramped, dirty, smelly, whatthefuckwas_that _ bathroom what she couldn't even admit to herself so she wouldn't have to deal with them. They were God's problems now, if he cared to keep them, and she could focus on getting Dean up and out the door and doing everything in her power to make sure Roy LeGrange saved his life. And she _would_ do everything. No matter what happened at the end of this day, Dean was _going_ to be healed.

Sam went out and got some food for her and Dean before her thick, chocolate hair had finished drying. He hadn't eaten the omelet she'd bought him the other day, grumbling something that sounded like 'fucking rabbit food' under his breath when she'd offered, so he _had_ to be hungry. She bought him some fresh chopped fruit (she had to pick out the bananas by hand, picky bastard) with vanilla yogurt and granola from the Wal-Mart down the street and then walked to the diner right next door to their motel for the short stack with bacon and _real_ maple syrup that was calling her name. She lugged everything back to their room where Dean was still asleep and ate her breakfast in peace, taking her time to savor her breakfast with a grainy version of _Casablanca_ on the TV. Her pancakes were a little cold, but the maple syrup wasn't made in a factory, so she wasn't gonna complain. And, so help her God, Dean was going to eat some food today.

She would force the food down his mouth if she had to, dammit.

It was only just past six in the morning, and Dean needed all the rest he could get for the service tonight, so she wouldn't wake him just yet. She'd let him wake up on his own; let his body decide when it was time to face the day. She threw his fruit and yogurt into the mini-fridge and turned around when he made a sound like he was trying to speak. However, his eyes were still shut and his breathing was still deep and even, so she dismissed it and grabbed her messenger bag before walking over to the small two-person table by the front door.

She pulled out her laptop, taking a moment to smile fondly at the different stickers plastered to the back of the screen. There was one for Monster energy drinks that Roger had put there the day she'd met him, a Stanford pride bumper sticker taking up a corner, one for a skating company Sam didn't recognize (probably something Roger's twin sister, Lucy, had slipped on when Sam was distracted), butterflies (where the hell had _those _come from?), notes Sam had written to herself and taped down for when she'd pull it out in class. Her entire school life could be recounted on the back of her computer, each different sticker or piece of paper sparking a different memory.

It didn't hurt as much as she thought it might to reminisce about her time in Palo Alto. Of course, that wasn't to say that it was painless, but it didn't make her choke on her own breath and reduce her to a weepy mess, so Sam counted it as an improvement. She giggled as quietly as she could when her fingers lingered over a peeling sticker of a tent that was supposed to be used when scrapbooking and not decorating personal property. Her friend Rebecca, or Becky as she preferred, had fought long and hard to get that there. Sam had said no, saying the sticker was stupid and she didn't wanna douche up her computer, but Becky had insisted she wanted to commemorate the camping trip they'd taken to the Red Woods two week before. There had been some wrestling involved (which Sam totally would have one, hands-down, if Becky hadn't cheated and gone for Sam's ticklish spots), but eventually, Becky got her way and slapped it right in the middle, covering the last of the Toshiba logo.

Sam had been reluctant to take that trip with her friends. Despite her excellent grades and the reassurance from her teachers and classmates that the break wouldn't harm her GPA, she'd still felt concerned about missing out on class. It was the first vacation she'd taken, and she'd been dating Roger for two months, so she wasn't sure how weird it would be to take a trip with him so soon. It had been awkward at the beginning because most of the people were Roger's friend and hadn't even met Sam up to that point. Brady had been there, though, and she'd been thankful for that. He was a mutual friend of Sam and Roger's, and was actually the whole reason they'd met. Sam was close to him, really close, and she'd been fighting hard for him these last couple months, so she was happy to see him out with friends and smiling like before he'd dropped off the deep end. Brady had left for spring break right before his sophomore year and when he came back, he went psycho.

Drugs, drinking, skipping classes, getting into fights. It was like he was a different person, and no matter how much Sam had tried talking to him, getting him to tell her what had happened to cause such a drastic change in his lifestyle, he was adamant that he was just finally letting loose. Becoming who he always truly was. 'Course, Sam refused to believe that and had made it her personal mission to set him on the straight and narrow. He'd saved her ass when she had first come here, been the first friend she'd made at Stanford, and she was returning the favor.

Sam had quite literally beat his ass into submission and staked her personal reputation to many of his teachers that he would come around before the end. She'd been his advocate for a time, working out his homework and study sessions and helping to tutor him when she could. It had been long and grueling, and many times she'd wanted to call it quits and just let the fucker burn if he wanted to cause so much trouble, but finally he'd sobered up and got back to it.

He could still get a little crazy from time to time, but for the most part, Brady was okay.

She'd stuck to him like glue the first day whenever Roger hadn't been around. Which was more often than Sam had thought, though not totally unexpected considering that practically his whole group of friends was there. Eventually, and Sam suspected that she'd grated on her friend's last nerve to make this happen, she had been forced to talk to other people. Brady had immersed himself in a group of four or five other people (Sam content to stay out of the conversation) around the campfire while some of the guys were out fishing, and then, right as Sam had been nursing the last of her second beer, he'd up and left. Claimed he was going to the bathroom, but seriously, who took forty-five minutes to go to the bathroom, camping or no?

Suffice to say, Sam had been ditched.

Traitor.

This prompted her to socialize, however, and was when she'd met some actual females she could call friends. Up until then, the majority of her companions had been guys (Sam just got along with them better), but she'd known a few girls from her Art History and pre-law classes. Hadn't been especially close to any of them, but she _knew_ some at least.

Jessica came first. Sweet, caring Jessica. With the blonde curls, green eyes like Dean's (not quite as deep or brilliant as his, but Sam might be _maybe_ a little biased), and dimples. Sam envied the girl for how easily she got along with others. She was like a bright flame that drew everyone in, desperate to catch some of her warmth. She laughed easily and when she talked to you, she really _looked_ at you, like what you had to say was of the utmost importance.

Sam liked her immediately.

Then there was Becky. Snarky, dry, but surprisingly kind Becky. Darker blonde hair than Jessica's, blue eyes, and a mind sharper than most of the knives Sam had Hunted with in her life. Sam rejoiced that she had someone she could hold the intense debates and thoughtful discussions her mind had mostly been deprived of her whole life.

It wasn't that everyone she knew was stupid… Sam was just freakishly smart.

Thankfully, Becky seemed to be able to keep up, and even threw some thoughts at Sam she hadn't considered, and her curiosity and constant hunger for knowledge was appeased by a new companion to confide in.

After Jessica and Becky came Randy, Niel, Natalie and Addy, and the rest of the camp had passed in a blur of alcohol, s'mores, and friendship, with the lingering doubt in the back of Sam's mind that she didn't quite belong. She'd chalked it up to her own insecurities about being the freak at the hundreds, dozens, thousands of different schools in her childhood and ignored it, but it cast a small shadow of her trip. Given her that worry. That _maybe_.

Sam fingered the tent sticker and drifted away from the memory and nostalgic _want_ that came with it. She missed those faces from her memory, the inside jokes with Jessica, the competitive nature of her friendship with Niel, her discussions with Becky, the giggles with Lucy. Stanford.

Roger.

She missed it all. More than she cared to admit, honestly. The late night studying for tests until her eyes were sore and puffy, writing a paper weeks before it was due and tweaking it up to the last-minute because no matter how good it was, it still wasn't _great_. The satisfaction with every bright red A plastered on the top when her essays were given back to her. The crappy coffee from the college café over on the west campus by the gym, but stomaching it anyway because it was closer than Starbucks, and three bucks cheaper. Dinner of bread and butter when her paychecks hadn't come in yet and she'd had to decide between whether she wanted better food or hot water.

Sam passed a hand over her face, trying to wipe away thoughts of California with her skin. She shrugged off the lingering waves of sunshine and dorms and opened her laptop, hiding the stickers of memories behind her screen. She jammed the power button probably harder than was necessary and nursed her bottom lip between her teeth while her laptop whirred slowly to life. She typed in her password (the date her mom had died because no one but her family could possibly know that, and neither of them would think to go there) and blinked when the login screen changed to a word document. She skimmed over the words for a moment, confused as to why she had some naturopathic shit on her computer when she vaguely recalled some of the things she'd been researching before Dean had popped in. She debated for a second whether she needed it still, and decided against closing it out.

Roy LeGrange still had yet to help her out, after all. It didn't hurt to have other options.

Sam logged on to the motel's free wifi and contented herself with checking her email and getting herself caught up on the few webcomics she was addicted to. It was something Roger had gotten her into, way back when. (They weren't nearly as lame as they sounded. No, seriously.) After she'd finished with that, she settled on Wikipedia to burn up the hours.

Call her a nerd all you want, but she was always intrigued and curious about the vast arrange of subjects people posted to the site, and the well of information was astounding. If she ever stumbled on something that _really_ sparked her interest then she took it upon herself to research that item to death until her brain was appeased and let her continue on. It was an old habit she'd developed from when she'd been left in libraries for hours on end by her brother while he was off romancing the next notch under his belt and their dad was three towns over being a superhero.

Supposedly.

Sam spent the next three hours bouncing from one page, to this link, to that subject and back again before her brother finally woke up. It was going on ten in the morning when he groaned and flopped on to his back. Sam pulled the ear bud out of her right ear, listening to her brother slowly wake himself up while Billy Squier's 'Lonely is the Night' played softly in her left ear.

Dean took a deep breath and brought a hand up to rub the sleep out of his eyes before he heaved himself into a sitting position. His eyes blinked heavily as he roved over the room, his eyebrows slowly pulled together in sleepy confusion. He stopped when he spotted his sister, staring at her for a second with a deep look of concentration and disorientation on his face, and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms once more.

"S'my?" His voice was thick with fatigue and scratchy with disuse. Sam paused her iTunes and pulled out her other ear bud. She stood up, stretching the muscles in her shoulders and back and padded over the foot of Dean's bed.

"How ya feelin', Dean?" He blinked twice, a look of incomprehension in his eyes.

"M'fine. Wh're…?" He gestured aimlessly around the room. Sam smiled at him.

"Oshkosh, Nebraska. We got her last night, remember?" He furrowed his brow once more, puzzled before shaking his head and sagging his shoulders.

"M'h'ngry, S'my." She smiled at the way sleep slurred his voice and nodded. She stood up and walked over to the mini fridge, pulling out his fruit and yogurt, and grabbing the granola on the dresser next to it. She opened up the bowl of fruit, and stirred the vanillia yogurt before emptying the cup in the bowl and mixing it up with the fruit. She peeled off the lid to the granola and sprinkled it on top, sneaking a few bites for herself, before taking the food and returning to Dean's bed.

His head was lolled back against the headboard and she wondered if he hadn't simply fallen back asleep. She set the fruit mixture down on the nightstand between their beds and lightly placed her hand on his arm. His eyes opened, with some great effort, and he yawned over a wince before maneuvering himself to a more upright position. Sam pointed to the bowl of fruit, ignoring his disgruntled sound of disappointment, and walked back over to her computer.

Seven hours until the service began.

* * *

All things considered, Sam felt that her nerves had been pretty agreeable through this whole fiasco. There had been a few blips where it all crashed down on her and she gagged on the thought of maybe Dean wouldn't last and his heart would just give out right now, and then she'd be all alone and her brother would be dead, and _oh God, please don't do this to me..._ but those had been far and few in between. She hadn't once sat down and let loose the fear and anxiety she was drowning under, and maybe that was good, but it probably wasn't.

Whatever.

Despite whether it was healthy or not, she'd had only a few moments of weakness, and for the most part, she'd been strong and getting them through this. However, once the pair of siblings got in to the Impala at 4:30, Sam had to physically force down a panic attack. She'd gotten them both here, kept them going when Dean had told her to give up, that she couldn't save her, and she worried that it was only her rebellious will and stubborn refusal to be wrong that had led them to this point. Maybe God hadn't heard her prayers, or worse, maybe he didn't care, and Dean really _was_ going to die, because what if LeGrange didn't pick him? And, _fuck_, what if she was too late?

For the most part, though, she'd held it together long enough to turn on the Impala and drive them the LeGrange's church. And yeah, just like she'd thought, it was raining still. More. Worse. Whatever. Bad enough that she was glad she'd be covered before the storm _really_ rolled in to town.

Dean was wide awake now. He'd grumbled and bitched about it, but in the end, he'd eaten all the fruit Sam had set in front of him like a man dying (no pun intended). He'd even had enough energy to take a shower. Or maybe it was his force of will. Eh, it was all semantics to her now. He was humming along with the Black Sabbath Sam had found on a local radio station, watching the trees pass by out the window.

Personally, Sam's hands were sweating so much she was having trouble gripping the steering wheel. She focused on taking deep breaths, concentrating on the feeling of her lungs expanding, and not how likely this was to fail. She prayed the whole car ride, a good twenty minutes, hoping that The Man was listening. Or at the very least, letting it go to voicemail for later.

Eventually, she reached her destination. The Impala bounced down a road of gravel, barreling over potholes and pebbles like they were nothing, and Sam tapped her fingers impatiently against the wheel in her hands. There were people milling about, forcing her to stop the car when they walked in front of her. She pursed her lips, annoyed, but waited until she found a spot to park. It was mostly grass, so the chance of the car getting stuck in the mud wasn't too high, but with the way it was raining, Sam wasn't holding her breath.

Without a word, Sam scrambled out of the car, rushing around to where her brother was glaring at the tent behind the black Impala, reading the sign that read, "The church of ROY LEGRANGE. Faith healer. Sundays 11AM and 2PM. Witness the miracle." Sam reached for his arm, gently pulling him out from the passenger's seat, but he shoved her off, turning his angry glare on her.

"I _got_ it, Sam." She held her tongue, because no, he obviously didn't, and what the fuck did he _care_ if he was weak in front of these people? Half of the people milling about were on crutches or some kind of walker, and they'd likely never see him again, so it didn't matter if he needed help getting out of the stupid car. But, of course, Dean wouldn't see it that way. "Man, you're a lying bitch, ya know that?" Dean limped forward and slammed the car door shut behind him. Sam shoved her ponytail back into the hood of the jacket she had on under her pea coat and jamming her hands in her pockets.

If he was expecting an apology for her trying to save his life, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

"Thought you said we were going to see a doctor."

"I believe I said a specialist," she muttered. Dean scoffed and wormed his hands into his the pockets of his pants, slowly trekking through the muck and mud as best he could. "Look, Dean, this guy's supposed to be the real deal."

"I can't _believe_ you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a _tent_." Sam shrugged noncommittally, completely unrepentant. If it was a chance that it would save her brother, she would take it, no matter the cost. If it wounded her brother's pride to come here expecting help from a stranger, fine.

At least he'd be alive to even _have_ pride.

"Reverend LeGrange is a great man," said a woman as she walked by them. Sam eyed her, a little put off that people were eavesdropping, but the lady was already at the entrance to the tent, so she thought nothing of it.

"Yeah, that's nice," Dean bit out sarcastically. Sam frowned at the anger she heard there as they came up on a man arguing with a police officer. She tensed out of reflex when she saw the cop, but relaxed with the knowledge that the law was here to deal with someone else.

"I have a right to protest. This man is a fraud, and he's milking all these people out of their hard-earned money!" The cop scowled and grabbed the man by the arm, nearly shoving him in to Sam.

"Sir, this is a place of worship. Move it." Sam and Dean watched curiously as the cop "escorted" the man towards the parked cars, but she didn't wait too long before she gently grabbed her brother's arm and pulled him along. He yanked out of her grasp forcefully, glowering at the white tent in front of them, and Sam tried not to feel hurt.

"I take it he's not part of the flock," he murmured. Sam shoved her hands back in to her pea coat and nodded underneath her gray hood.

"Well, when people see something they can't explain, there's controversy."

"C'mon Sam, a _faith_ healer?" Sam did her very best not to roll her eyes, reminding herself that Dean was sick and probably feeling vulnerable by being here and that she had to be an understanding sister.

"Maybe it's time to have a little faith, Dean." Her mood soured when someone bumped into her without apologizing and the wind threw the rain at a slant and right into her face. For the first time since getting out of the car, Dean looked over at his sister with something other than resentment. He looked almost… reserved.

"You know what I got faith in? _Reality_. Knowing what's really going on." Sam was trying to be an understanding sister, really, she was, but she couldn't help the unbelieving scoff that passed her lips.

"How can you be a skeptic with the things we see every day?"

"Exactly," he hissed, "we _see_ them, we _know_ they're real!" Sam stopped, just in front of the tent, water dripping from her hood and turned to her brother. His hood was down and there was water clinging to his messy spikes, running down his face. The storm was starting to pick up now, and the warmth from inside was beckoning to Sam, but she wanted to finish this conversation while they still had some semblance of privacy.

"But if you know evil's out there, how can you not believe good's out there, too?"

"Because I've seen what evil does to good people."

"Maybe God works in mysterious ways." Both siblings jumped at the voice in front of them. A woman, shorter than Sam by a few inches, with a black umbrella in her hands, turned around and smiled at them warmly. She had blonde hair pulled back in to a half-ponytail. She had brown eyes closer to honey than chocolate, and a light pink dusting her cheeks. She was wearing a white blouse with a blue corduroy jacket and a plaid skirt, equipped with gray tights and brown leather shoes. She really looked like she was going to a Sunday church service, and not some haphazard white tent in a man's front yard, surrounded by people with oxygen tanks and wheelchairs.

The change in Dean was instantaneous. He slipped behind his flirtatious smirk and relaxed his posture to something easier and more open. He subtly gave her the once-over, and Sam didn't even bother holding herself back when she wanted to roll her eyes this time.

"Maybe he does," he purred. "I think you just turned me around on the subject."

The woman chuckled and shook her head, cocking her head to the side and raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah. I'm _sure_." Dean pulled his right hand out of his pocket and extended it towards the strange woman.

"I'm Dean," he nodded his head over towards Sam, "this is Sam." The blonde woman took his hand and smiled at them both.

"Layla." Well, that was an interesting name. Sam nodded in acknowledgement as Layla dropped her brother's hand, bringing it back to the umbrella handle. "So, if you're not a believer, then why are you here?"

Oh, boy.

"Well," and here Dean's smile became just a little less charming, "apparently my sister here believes enough for the both of us." Sam gave her brother a pointed look before smiling over at Layla. It looked like she was about to say something, but then a woman with red hair came up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Come on, Layla. It's about to start." Layla nodded happily and waved to the both of them before closing her umbrella and walking inside the tent. Sam watched her lean in to the older woman, probably her mother, and shifted uncomfortably as the wetness soaked through her hood and started on her hair.

"Well, I bet you _she_ could work in some mysterious ways," Dean mused. Sam grinned before she could stop herself and shook her head exasperatedly at her brother's antics. At the point, it was hard to tell if it was all for show or not.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice called from within the tent, "please be seated. We'll be starting in just a moment."

Dean heaved one last sight, the scowl slowly returning to his face before he braced himself and trudged inside. Sam hesitated for only a moment before following.

It couldn't hurt to pray just... _one_ last time.

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**Wooooooo! I am so happy to have this chapter up!**

**I hope you guys are just as happy!**

**Peace.**


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